Status

User has no status, yet

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

Glad to see you guys still here. I’ll do my best to keep it going.

And for anyone who didn’t get it here’s the discord link. Much easier to stay in touch

discord.gg/bebfNn
Howdy! Still interested?
@datadogieCool,I’m in the midst of planning what to do next, but should hopefully have a post up soon.

@ScreenAcneAlrigh, thanks for the heads up. Hope life treats you well my guy, have a good one!
@ScreenAcne @Torack @PigeonOfAstora @krismer22 @Jamesyco @Jarl Coolgruuf @datadogie @Evil Snowman @Jacky @Drag @The Abyss @Bazmund

So for those of you not in the discord server or just not paying attention, Stuff had to drop the RP due to other life pressures. He asked if anyone wanted to step up to run it, and I said I would try.

So how many of you are still interested in this if it’s run by a complete novice at GMing?
Cold. All she could feel was cold. Surrounded on three sides by the ice that had been keeping her alive for 700 years, the temperature was unbearably low. Without any input from her concious the animal part of Reti's brain recoiled violently at the notion of dying in whatever glacial prison she was currently held. Sharp cracking sounds made her ears twitch in discomfort as the thin layer of frost coating her naked body shattered and fell off like skin being shed from some groggy reptile. Almost as soon as her head was thrown forward it came to a stop, halted by the icy glass door of the cryo pod. Now she was panicking, breath fogging the glass as she began to hyperventilate. She could see various figures outside the frost glass, wandering around and checking instrument panels and talking. She had no idea who they were, no idea why they had decided to trap her. All she could think about was how awfully thin the air was getting.

With a grunt Dr. Kaatis pulled back her robotic right hand, synthetic fibers coiling up and launching titanium knuckles at the pane imprisoning her. The blow was nowhere near as strong as she hoped, the tendons having locked up due to exposure to the cold. She tried again, the next blow coming a little faster. The metaphorical (and maybe literal) rust was being shaken off, the third strike hitting hard enough to form a hairline fracture. Now she was getting somewhere, but she could feel the air getting thinner. She was running out of time! Reti redoubled her efforts, pounding against the glass with all her might. The enhanced strength of her arm was returning, hairline fractures growing into proper spiderwebs of cracks. A weak scratchy grumble coming from her fellow pod passenger on her stomach made her look down, Reti scratching under Little Kat's jaw. "Don't worry little buddy." She whispered, trying to sound calmer than she actually was. "Mama's gonna get us out of here."

But the captors had taken notice of the rapidly increasing damage coming from the inside of the pod, one of them rushing over and tapping at the control panel. The door to the pod popped open with a hiss, Reti and Little Kat stumbling out thanks to the moment of her swing already in progress. The Lorin bared her sharp teeth and took a step towards the human who had just released her, already winding back another punch. She might have been shorter than the man but she could almost guarantee her right hook was stronger. And he seemed to know it, shrinking back from all five feet of panicked red flesh. Now she was out of that tomb of metal and ice and in front of one of the people responsible for putting her in it she could get some answers. She would have to calm and methodical, carefully ensuring she choose the right words...

"Where am I?!"

Or she could scream three words like a monosyllabic Neanderthal, that was an option too. The modern cave woman looked absolutely frantic, her hair hanging down over her face in a messy black curtain as she hissed her inquiry. "Oh Jesus, fuck you're on the Monolith! You just got out of 700 years of cryosleep, calm down please!"

700 hundred years? Did he think she was stupid? That was the dumbest lie she had ever heard. She knew she shouldn't have been encased in icce, the last thing she remembered was-

The last thing she remembered was whispering good night to her lizard-cat as she carried him into the pod. She had really spent the last 7 centuries in stasis. "Oh. Sorry for the panic then." she said calmly, the shift in tone as sudden as flicking a switch. The good doctor whistled sharply for her pet to follow her, moving onto the checklist of problems. Problem number one was that she was naked. That was easily rectified, Reti making her way through the crowd of techs and recently awoken passengers to her storage locker. The small mirror she had attacked to the inside of it allowed her to see what she was doing as she tied tiny silver charms to her hair, scooping the mass back and tying it off with her scarf. The next article of clothing was her holster, Reti cinching it around her waist and tucking away her revolver before slipping on her robes. She didn't bother to put on shoes, preferring to be barefoot whenever possible.

Problem number two was the withdrawal. 700 hundred years was a long time for her to go without any of her stims and she was feeling the effects after waking up. She was dehydrated, throat parched and mouth unable to produce saliva. Her heart rate was unnaturally slow, especially for her, and her whole body seemed to ache. Even if she wasn't more or less addicted any competent doctor could recognize the symptoms of stim withdrawal. Luckily for her the solution was on hand. A handful of caffeine pills and an alertness patch on her stomach and she was already going back to "normal", heart rate spiking and the fog clearing from her head. A few more of those and she'd be back to two hours of sleep every couple of days. If she was lucky she'd even be able to cut that down. There was going to be a lot of work to do.

The third problem was her eye. The mechanical orb wasn't working, circuitry frozen over by the years on ice. The pill popping doctor carefully removed the thing from her eye, empty socket staring out at the world as she took out automated thermos from her belongings. The eye was dropped in and the container filled with water, a crimson finger flicking the dial up to boiling. As she waited for it to finish she listened to the briefing, taking it in silently. The news was bad, but not catastrophic. All it meant was she would have to work harder. The timer on her thermos dinged and she opened it, using her metal fingers to dig around the steaming water for her eye. Once it was retrieved it was just a matter of waiting for it to cool down before popping it back into her socket. The tiny hole in the back of the orb met with the thin needle connected to her brain, the two organs syncing up as her vision rebooted.

She was ready to go.




Interest tag
Victoria had kept quiet as the scouting party crept through the wasteland that had been Amone, hunching over subconsciously as if to press her tall form as close to the ground as possible, fighting the urge to crawl through the dust and grit like the rat who's skull decorated her hat. The destruction caused by the distant artillery fire was awesome in the literal sense of the word, instilling a sense of breathtaking fear and apprehension towards the engines of misery that could end scores of lives in a single explosive burst from far out of view. She respected them, what they represented: power. Power through force, power that could extend itself to reach thousands of yards away. No one was above them. You either paid the respects they were due or they took your life. Simple as that. Just like back, the strong took what they wanted.

She knew of course just how monstrous it was to respected those engines of violent death, knew it was a symptom of deep troubles. But she was in no position to complain. That same repulsive glee at the thought of violence that had plagued her three years ago was thriving in this awful environment, flourishing in the bombed out rubble. The Rat was taking control just as it had in the fight at the party, the same force that made her gouge out a girl's throat and crush a man's skull into mulch with her rifle keeping her keen and wary. Rats cared only for their own survival and that was her only goal for the time being: survive to see Elizabeth again.

So the Rat kept going, her usual smirk drawn into a tight lip grimace that made her ugly scar stretch tight across her face. She didn't say a word, simply checking the remains of buildings when instructed with a workman like efficiency. Smoothly she'd wheel through each room, checking corners and opening closets with her bayonet, all the while scooping loose change and trinkets of varying worth into her pockets and bag with hardly a thought. Whoever had owned them before wasn't around to ask her to stop. Every now and again the though of looting one of those towers would cross her mind, tempting her with visions of gilded religious iconography relics of saints. But even she wasn't so greedy that her common sense was dulled. Those were the most likely places for a area denial booby trap, a grenade rigged to go off or a knife attacked to a makeshift crossbow, hell even a rifle with a string around the trigger attached to the door.

So Vicky just waited for the Darcian leader to give his next order, picking under her nails with her bayonet as he considered whatever it was officers considered and snapping to attention why she was addressed. The only answer Jean got was a thumbs up in response, creeping in with a silent snarl etched on her face, fully loaded and ready to kill. So it was a bit of a letdown when all that was in there were crates of ammo for the sandbagged guns and a few opened tins of food. Oh well. She continued up the stairs to the second floor, taking a moment to eye her squad through the window before taking a lazy look through the cabinets and end tables. Torn open envelopes, bits of a journal, scraps of cheesy love poems written by a truly artless Imperial soldier, nothing of value or interest.

Until she kicked at sloppily wrapped bedroll, dislodging a few dead cigarettes and a sheaf of papers written in Europan Common. The Rat moved to dismiss them offhand at the apparent lack of value but stopped cold as the words IMPERIAL DEFENSE PLAN jumped out a her. Curiosity now aroused Victoria squatted down on her powerful haunches and leafed through the sheets, brown eyes widening as she read. She was looking at the Empire's final desperate solution to hold Amone, reading a map depicting a tightly focused line of defence running through the Cathedral. It called for troops to be relocated, ammo and food and medicine to be stockpiled, new equipment to be issued all in the name of making themselves as hard as possible to dislodge. There were would be no rout, no falling back to regroup. The Imperial Army would have to be beaten to death and dragged out of their trench, driven from their defences and into the maw of the Federation war machine with bullets and bombs and blades. It was going to be costly for both sides no matter who managed to hold out longer. "Fine then cunts." She thought to herself with a grin. "Let's see how long you hold up."

She might've just earned herself a medal, or a promotion! That would be fun, a set of stripes on her sleeve to rub in Luke's face. Private white was gone, Corporal White was here to stay. Chuckling at her delusions of grandeur Vicky put the plans back in their folder and tramped downstairs, ready to show off her find when she heard the scream. Immediately the Rat kicked into action taking cover in the stairwell and clutching her carbine, waiting for any follow up sounds with her finger on the trigger. Let them come, let them come, let come!" she repeated to herself, getting herself ready to draw blood by way of repeated mantra. But nothing came, Victoria calming down after a minute or so and walking out into the rain. Heavy drops of water pitter-pattered against her hat and rolled off her canvas cape, the Oceanic stepping towards Luke and Jean. Before she could reach the tram car the Francian had gotten to it, reacting in horror to unseen threat. She sprinted towards him with rifle in hand, boots leaving prints in the mud and dust as she skidded to a stop next to him.

She had been expecting to see an Imperial ambush of some kind, not corpses. She breathed a sigh of relief, a wan smile on her face. While the Rat had been craving action Vicky didn't exactly want to trade bullets if she could avoid. So the sight of bodies was welcome to her. The smell much less so. She was reminded of when the ranchers would burn their infected livestock, the charred flesh left to rot in a pit and stinking up the air. Her mother had once told her that meat was best when it was falling off the bone. By that standard the soldiers and civilians down the street were positively delicious. More roasted corpses choked the path, a feast for maggots and crows and a source of confusion for Victoria. Had they been doused with gasoline before being set ablaze? But why waste the time and effort? Was this just a show of power, or a test of some new weapon.

She turned to asked Jean what he thought but decided against it when he collapsed, inquires about his health dying in her throat as he vomited. Instead of asking if he was okay she simply pursed her lips and dropped her canteen next to him, the offer of clean water there if needed it. Once again she was having second thoughts about her squad leader. Was he going to break down every time he saw something horrific? They would never get anything done if every few blocks he started puking his guts out. The Rat wanted to drag him up by the arms and slap some sense into him, beat every last ounce of cowardice out of his system until he was a competent leader. But she did no such thing, simply spitting on the ground in disgust and continuing onward when instructed.

The Gallian regiment proved to be of some interested, Vicky digging through pockets until she found a medal to compare to the one she had stolen during the gas attack. Just as she had thought, it was a Gallian decoration of some kind. The new award was placed in her pocket next to its older counterpart, the clinking of metal drowned out by the sudden sound of a shell arcing towards the camp. "Fuck!"

The explosion had been big, big enough to be felt all this way from the camp. They were really stepping up their game. But there was no time to consider that, not when a bullet caused some stray Ragnite to explode in a burst of flame and shrapnel. Instinctively she threw her cape up to protect herself from the searing heat as she dropped to the floor, dragging herself behind a pile of rubble and looking around to take stock of the situation.

Marathon was fucked. His leg had been suddenly and violently separated from his body, the limb lying in a pool of blood away from it's owner. All she could do was go pale in the face and tremble violently, a thumb jerking towards the rough location of the shooter. She simultaneously wanted to curl into a ball and cry and rush the shooter so she could tear them limb from limb, white hot rage clashing with fear. Rage won out, listening to Luke's plan through a haze of a screaming need for revenge. Her first thought was drag Thomas back into cover but the fucking sniper would be expecting that. Luke's plan was a good one, but she wasn't waiting for their piece of shit officer to find his balls and answer.

She was going to get shit done.

With a roar of pure hatred the Rat exploded from behind their cover, using the natural gift of speed she had honed in back alley brawls and dusty footraces to propel herself past Thomas and his leg, past Jean and his weakness, past Luke and his mommy issues and towards the field gun. She screamed as she fired wildly at the tower, three shots burying themselves in the stone, challenging the Imperial bastard up there to take her out she blasted them directly to Hell. She was sailing across loose cobblestones and lead bullets, graceful in the way a rampaging tiger was, or an avenging angel dragging sinners down to eternal torment. Grace and fury melded into a single form...

Until she slipped and smacked directly into the gun, splitting her forehead. The Oceanic killer swore violently as pain flashed through her skull and blood matted the strands of hair hanging across her face, forcing herself up from the ground and checking to see if it was loaded. It was, she was clear to start dragging the barrel of the gun into position. With a groan of rusted metal from the cannon and grunt of exertion from Vicky the barrel began to turn, the Rat focused on blowing the tower to high hell. Luke could come over there and help or stay there and confer with the piece of shit officer, it mattered little to her.

@LetMeDoStuff @Jacky
Callsign:Void
Adrift in Space


Four days. She had been cooped up in the cockpit of her ship for four days. Four days spent chewing on tasteless rations and tracing shapes with her claws in the dust that gathered on the craft's dashboard, alternating between napping and watching bootleg recordings of ancient movies and shows on her HUD. There was nothing else she could do. The ship's course had been locked in and she would only need to take the reins from the AI running things if someone pursued her. That was unlikely, no one was coming out this way. Void had skipped the gates needed for the jump to hyperspace because that's where they'd be looking for her. Lovos and their hired dogs, the bounty hunters and mercenaries they had on retainer. Fuck, there could even be elite Retrieval Teams waiting for her at every gate! The bioweapon had been assigned to work with them on occasion, enough to know that she never wanted to be on the opposite side of the field.
So the only way to go was through the emptiness of open space, the thrusts killed to save fuel. All the engine was doing was providing heat to the cockpit, the momentum from earlier travel gently pushing the Strfye along at a slow and steady pace. Nothing around her except the stars and long dead satellites that occasionally interrupted the upbeat, frenetic music piping through the high quality speakers she had replaced the stock ones with. It served as a wakeup call of sorts, energetic and lively enough to get her wanting to moving. The target was getting closer and closer and soon she would have to make a leap of faith, throw herself back into the life she had tried to escape after a brief hiatus. She would have to cover her comfortable wife-beater and sweatpants with ceramic and aramid armor that always left her fur drenched in sweat. For now she could lounge in her chair and sip at her coffee between bites of dehydrated paste claiming to be mashed potatoes, but in the near future she'd gulping down water provided to her by the survival system in her armor and choking down lumps of vascular flesh in order to stay alive after some bastard Black Legionary landed a snap shot on her.

Her life was just a series of gunfights, dodging bullets and forcing herself to consume the hearts of her enemies like some kind of space age barbarian. All because the greedy suits at Lovos wanted a monster they could lease out to any army
© 2007-2026
BBCode Cheatsheet